


Talisman

by cruisedirector



Category: Smallville
Genre: Clothing, Crush, Embarrassment, Falling In Love, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Scents & Smells, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-23
Updated: 2005-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:38:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruisedirector/pseuds/cruisedirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes any souvenir can be better than none.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talisman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karelian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karelian/gifts).



> I wrote a version of this story in a different fandom under a different name, but on reflection it seemed to fit these characters.

You hadn't meant to save it like a trophy. But when you inadvertently look through the mattress and spot it under your bed, stiffly rumpled and slightly yellow where the wetness has dried, you don't want to throw it in the laundry, either. Instead you leave the shirt right where it's been since Lex shoved it under there, careless in his haste, and that night, when you can't sleep for being alone, you pull it out to touch. You bet Lex has never missed it.

Sniffing cautiously, you discover that the shirt doesn't really have much of an odor. A little grassy and maybe a little like bread where it's stained, but clean, even right under the arms where it smells more of deodorant than sweat. Lex always smells good to you, but you've never been able to envelop yourself in his scent like this, the combination of fabric softener and soap. His own hands must have rubbed the suds over his body when he was in the shower, you think and moan very softly, stroking his shirt over your cheek.

The fabric isn't worn, exactly, but it isn't new, and you're a little surprised because you'd think everything Lex wore would be in mint condition, like his comic books. You try to read the tag, but laundry detergent has scrubbed the materials list from the label. It's probably cotton. This isn't some designer undershirt. Nothing fancy, no decal, a few fraying threads. The material is thin enough that you can see your fingers through it without trying, and it's soft and pliant, like the tip of a man's cock when you rub your palm over it.

The spots are darker, uneven and rigid, as if someone has spilled paste onto the fabric. There's one big stain in the middle of the back. That's the part Lex used to wipe you both off, first you and then himself, smiling as he pulled it over his head so fast it ripped a little at the neck. The front of the shirt was already spattered from when you jerked Lex off, then came all over him a minute later just from rocking against him while you were waiting for him to drift down from the high. You swore loudly and felt like a stupid kid but Lex held on to you, saying _Oh_ as if he were surprised.

You were both a little stunned, actually. Had been since Lex looked at you with that look which you'd always tried to ignore in his presence but this time you didn't, you looked back, and he said _Maybe I'd better go_, even though he'd just gotten there. You said _Stay_ before you even knew what you felt, before you registered that you were getting hard and Lex had his hands jammed in the pockets of his pants like he had something to hide in there. Lex isn't the sort to say things he might regret later like _Are you sure_, so he just picked up his Coke and gulped it like it was a stiff drink, then turned straight out the door to the loft, not stopping to see whether your parents had come home or even whether you'd remembered to shut the door.

_I want_, you began as you followed him in, but he didn't ask and didn't explain anything, so you didn't say anything else as he sat on the edge of your bed and you sat down beside him. He studied you for what felt like forever, so long that you couldn't tell whether he was guessing your feelings or memorizing your face or thinking about having you painted in a certain light. Just when you thought he'd changed his mind, he reached for you, and by then you'd both been waiting so long that it was pure relief, fast and rough and joyful.

You were so tired and glowing afterward that Lex kissed you goodbye on the cheek under the covers, put on what clothes he could find on the floor and went home to shower, since a visit to the Kent bathroom was out of the question. That's how his shirt came to reside under your bed. But he hasn't been back since. He hasn't even suggested it, and it's been so many days that you're afraid to ask him. He has been friendly; you want to keep it that way. You want not to have ruined things the way the two of you ruined his shirt, which you press over your face, rubbing the rough spots against your skin. It smells good, like him and you.

You think someone like Lex would not understand holding on to a soiled old shirt, but then you think that maybe you're wrong. Lex knows the value of a talisman - the first dollar you made at a job, the first diamond pulled out of the mine, and even though he might look at you like you were crazy if he knew you were thinking about his shirt the same way, it wouldn't be a completely alien concept. You snort slightly at the pun, crumple up the shirt next to your pillow and lie down, suspecting that you're being stupid. A stain isn't proof of anything other than what a mess you've made. You know you should just jack off and be done with it, or stare at the shirt until you ignite it with your eyes and it stops haunting you, but you're not in the mood. In some absurd way, you think that maybe if you treat the talisman with reverence, it will give you something back.

Your cell phone rings. You tell yourself not to hope, but when you see his number on the display, your face splits open with a grin you're sure Lex can hear in your voice. _I know it's late_, he tells you, then starts talking anyway, about how his fencing went today and the biography of Sun Tzu he's reading and how he wants to go to Metropolis this weekend and by the way what are you doing.

When you tell him you were thinking about doing laundry, he says he knows he made kind of a mess, but he could come see you, if you're not too busy, and you can talk. He says, _I think I left my favorite shirt on your floor and you can keep it if you want but if you don't please don't throw it out_, and he says he's sorry, really sorry that he didn't call, but he misses you and doesn't want to go back, he wants more, he wants that feeling again. Still smiling, you stroke your palm across the well-loved cloth and say, _Don't worry, I've been holding on to it for you_.


End file.
